In the midst of his near-panic of mind, Tony and Det arrived. The latter was not excited, although Tony had aroused him from his sleep in a manner that was enough to convince one that a war fleet had arrived from Mars or the end of the world had come. But he found Walter in an attitude that caused him to become more than serious, for the radio boy was just receiving another distress call, coupled with the announcement that the listing of the ship had rendered it impossible to launch nearly half the boats, so that many of the passengers would have to seek safety on rafts.
“What’s all this about?” demanded the old sailor with a kind of awed sternness.
Walter did not answer at once. He was listening intently. But pretty soon a short period of silence in the receivers gave him opportunity to cry out:
“Hasn’t Tony told you? The Herculanea is wrecked—going down. They’re taking to the boats, and there’s not enough boats for all. There are only rafts for hundreds of them.”
“You got that message?” inquired the incredulous man. “Where is the steamer?”
“Off Nova Scotia, four hundred miles from here.”
“You must be crazy! Your little amateur outfit couldn’t receive a message from away up there.”
“Crazy, am I?” fired back Walter. “That shows how little you know about wireless telegraphy. This outfit can take any message that any other outfit can take. I want you to know that I received those messages, and they are true. Look over this boat as fast as possible and see that she’s ready to start on a four hundred mile trip in half an hour.”
Det stared at the boy as if he thought him mad. He wondered if he were not still in his bed and dreaming. He could hardly believe his senses. But the boy was in dead earnest and could not be handled lightly. He was in a mood to give commands now, even to the grown and long experienced Det Teller, and he must be handled like a man.
“If the steamer’s going to sink, it’ll be at the bottom of the ocean almost before we can get started, let alone running four hundred miles,” objected Det.